


starbuckets of love

by foxhat



Series: coffee puns and first dates [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, French Jean Kirstein, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxhat/pseuds/foxhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the berujean coffeeshop au no one asked for</p>
            </blockquote>





	starbuckets of love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feelgood_mac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelgood_mac/gifts).



> this started out as a very elaborate ploy to write about jean in oversized sweaters, but i never finished it. however, then hannah's birthday came closer and closer and since they're the berujean queen of hell i decided to finish it for their birthday, so here it is! (also please don't take this title seriously i couldn't come up with anything so i asked a friend if she could come up with lame coffee puns. she did.)

Bertl was standing behind the counter of the coffee shop he worked in when _he_ first entered. At the moment he was using a wet cloth to sop up the spilled coffee from when Ymir tried to work too fast. He wrung it out above the sink when he heard the familiar ping of the doorbell. It had taken him some time to get used to that, to hear the sound without tensing his shoulders and holding his breath. He used to lie awake every night before his shifts, worrying about the things that could go wrong, the stupid things he could say, the stupid things others could say, the way his German accent would seep through too much whenever he was nervous (and he was nervous a lot), ways he could lose his job–

It had taken time, but it had been two years since he had first started his job here and by now the shop felt familiar, safe. He knew his co-workers, they knew him, and after 745 days he had even learned how to act around the regulars. He knew that the lady asking for a double espresso liked it when he asked her about her flowers. He knew that the man always coming in at noon for a cappuccino and a brownie preferred him to be silent. He knew that when the two girls entered at the end of the day he'd best find an excuse to escape from the bar and let one of his co-worker take care of it, because one of them always threw him smiles too big for him to know what to do with them.

This wasn't a regular, however (not yet), and Bertl could feel the familiar tugging in his stomach. He knew he had never seen this guy before, because he always remembered faces – especially faces like his.

Everything about him was long and slender; thin fingers wrapped around an old leather bag, legs wrapped in black skinny jeans so tight Bertl could see the outline of his bony knees, an oversized sweater in a washed-out yellow hanging low on his shoulders, showing glimpses of his collarbones as he moved. He wasn't tall in the way Bertl was, though, with shoulders hunched over to look a little smaller and limbs that were slightly longer than he expected them to be, causing him to constantly bump into things. No, this guy made it work, made his angles and sharp lines work for him. This man was–

well, this man was attractive.

Bertl was ashamed to only notice the other guy with him when they reached the counter. They made an odd pair, the other guy's warm brown skin and abundance of freckles making the skinny one look a little pale, his bright smile clashing even more with the slightly annoyed face of his friend.

"Hello!" he said as soon as they got to the counter, and his cheeriness made Bertl almost drop the cloth.

"U-uhm, hi, what can I do for you?" he asked, hating how his tongue stumbled over the words. He reminded himself he wasn't scared of these people.

"A hot chocolate for me," the cheery guy said, nudging his friend with his elbow, causing him to look up at Bertl.

Oh god.

He had very, _very_ nice eyes, his irises a color Bertl didn't know how to describe without doing them injustice. The guy grunted for an espresso, black please, and Bertl felt his heart make a slight jump when he heard the heavy French accent in his voice. He felt silly for thinking they were both foreigners to this city– France and Germany were very different. Still, he couldn't help but think they had something in common.

Bertl managed to mumble a quick “of course” before he turned to the coffee machine, preparing both orders for them. He could hear the two guys mumbling to each other behind his back, and it took him a few seconds to realize that he couldn't hear what they were saying because they were speaking in French. He wondered if that meant they were both from France, and then tried to think of why the other guy didn't seem to have an accent.

When he set the two cups on the counter – one espresso, one hot chocolate – the man with the frown on his forehead and the startling eyes grabbed his cup and turned around to walk to one of the tables. Bertl was about to turn around as well, accepting the fact that obviously the guy had barely noticed him, when his friend spoke up.

“I swear Jean isn't always this grumpy, he's actually very nice when you get to know him. It's just a little early for him,” he said, and Bertl blinked, wondering why this man wanted him to know this. "Oh. Uhm, that's okay," he answered, wishing he would have had something more interesting to say. It didn't seem to bother the man in front of him, though, because he just smiled (again) and thanked Bertl for making his drink before he went to join his friend.

Bertl was proud to say he only watched them _some_ of the time. It seemed the guy had been right, because Jean (his name was _Jean_ ) seemed to slowly relax, and at one point he even showed a careful smile when his friend told an enthusiastic story, throwing his arms in the air as he spoke.

He was forced to pull his eyes away from them when another client entered the shop. As the rush hour approached and Bertl was kept busy behind the coffee machine, he could see the two guys leave, the cheery friend shouting a hasty "Goodbye!" before the door fell close behind them. Bertl didn't have much time to feel disappointed about their disappearance, as there were a lot of people in the shop now, forming a small queue, and he had to quickly move around the small space behind the counter, putting cake on plates and grabbing forks and steaming milk, until his co-worker Krista arrived for her shift and quickly jumped in to help him.

 

 

***

 

As soon as Bertl got home, he threw his bag on the floor in the hallway and collapsed on the old couch in the living room, enjoying the luxury of having nothing more to do but breathe.

He had just closed his eyes when he could hear the front door open and close again, and Reiner's heavy footsteps announced his presence even before he had said anything. Reiner was probably the only person Bertl could imagine living with, the days of his youth so often spent with him that he had become one of the very few people he felt completely at ease with.

"Hey, Bertl," Reiner said, dropping his coat on one of the chairs and plopping down next to him to untie his shoes.

"Rough day?" he asked when Bertl didn't immediately answer him.

"Hm," he said, and for a moment considered telling him about Jean. He stopped himself short right before opening his mouth, though. It wasn't that he didn't trust Reiner, or thought that he would judge him. They just didn't really talk about those things, and though he was pretty sure that Reiner knew about his sexuality, it had never been said out loud before.

The rational part of his mind told him he was acting stupid, that if there was anyone he could talk to without overthinking things, it was Reiner, but he still kept his mouth shut. He would probably never see Jean again, so it didn’t even matter that much anyway.

 

 

***

 

A month later, and Bertl was pretty sure Jean had turned into one of the regulars. At first he returned with his friend, who Bertl soon learned was called Marco, and Bertl was surprised to discover Jean’s easy laugh. It crinkled his eyes and showed two rows of white straight teeth. The kind that only came after years of braces, and the rest of the day Bertholdt kept thinking about a younger Jean, wondering if he had laughed as easy and open then as he did now or if he had been embarrassed about his crooked teeth and the metal in his mouth. Bertholdt knew he would have been terrified to even open his mouth, let alone laugh. One time when he was so far off in his thoughts that the milk he was steaming spilled on the ground, Krista gave him a look that seemed to say, _you’ve got it bad_. He had avoided her eyes for the rest of the day.

After that Jean started to come in more and more on his own, eventually entering almost every day, always asking for an espresso. Sometimes he came in so early he was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Lectures at eight in the morning should not be allowed," he had mumbled as Bertl put down a double espresso in front of him. He had already guessed Jean was a student – the coffee shop was situated right at the edge of Trost's campus, so most of their customers were college kids, but hearing it said out loud made his heart jump a little, his mind already trying to come up with possible subjects Jean could be majoring in. The truth was, however, that despite the time he had spent subtly watching Jean (though at one point his other colleague Ymir had noticed; Bertl had been mortified), there was very little he actually knew about him.

All he knew was that Jean always came in covered in a thick shawl and bright red beanie, that his sweaters were always at least one size too big, while his jeans seemed as if they could've been a size too small (though Bertl guessed it was probably just fashion these days), and that the dark circles under his eyes were always begging Bertl for a shot of caffeine. His friend Marco had been right though: the more times Jean had visited the shop, the more relaxed he seemed to become. Nowadays, most of the time when he entered he actually threw Bertl a quick smile (that always made his breath hitch, though he had become very good at covering that up).

***

A few more weeks passed, and this time Jean came in with a girl. She had black shining hair and a dark red scarf wrapped around her neck, and it was obvious to Bertl that it was a date.

It was also obvious to him that it was going _horrible_. He could hear Jean stuttering and rambling about the weather and the girl’s hair as Bertl was preparing someone’s coffee, and whenever he dared to look he could see the girl either giving Jean a blank stare or, even worse, looking at her surroundings while very obviously not listening to a word Jean was saying. Their date hadn’t even lasted fifteen minutes when the girl took out her phone and said something had come up and she had to go, leaving Jean alone at the table, looking very miserable.

Before Bertholdt could think about what he was doing, there was a freshly made glass of latte macchiato in his hand and he was standing next to Jean’s table.

“This one’s on the house,” he said, and immediately panicked. What was he doing? He couldn’t just give out free coffee. He was lucky Ymir had gone out on some errand, he would get fired if anyone found out. Wait, Jean never ordered anything else but espresso. What if he hated milk? What if he was lactose intolerant? Oh God, what had he done?

Jean crinkled his nose and looked at the glass in front of him.

“Do I really look so bad you’re giving me free coffee?” he asked, and Bertholdt immediately scrambled back.

“No! No, you look good! I mean- uhm, you look fine. Good. Okay, I mean. Uhm.”

Jean just seemed amused, because Bertholdt could see a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, right before he took a large gulp of the coffee.

“I’m just kidding, sorry. Thanks,” he said, and threw Bertholdt a look that immediately made his cheeks heat up. Which was ridiculous, because Jean was just looking at him.

“You’re pretty tall,” Jean suddenly said, and Bertholdt fidgeted with the fabric of his apron.

“Uhm. Yes, I guess,” he answered, because what was he supposed to say to that?

Jean hummed and took another sip of his coffee, licking the foam from his upper lip afterwards. Bertholdt tried not to stare (and failed).

“I should get back to work,” he said when it had been silent for at least an entire minute. Jean nodded, and Bertholdt turned around to walk back towards the bar, where there was already a new customer waiting for him.

Jean left after he finished his macchiato, yelling another thanks towards Bertholdt right before he was out the door. Bertholdt thought about their short exchange of words for the rest of his day.

 

***

 

He got home less exhausted than he was most of the times, still running on the words that had been shared between him and Jean. Bertl dropped his bag in the hallway and hung up his coat, like usual, and noticed Reiner already sitting on the couch in their living room, the television on some teleshopping channel.

“I’m home,” he said as he walked in, even though Reiner had probably already heard him. He tried his best to look normal, but it only took one look for Reiner to see something had happened today.

“You look happy,” he said, and Bertl tried to hide his blush (which was ridiculous, it had just been a conversation, and not even a long one at that). There was no use hiding his crush from Reiner any longer, however, Bertl knew he would figure it out himself if he didn’t say anything. So he sat down on the couch next to his friend, immediately hunching over and picking at the fabric of his trousers.

“There’s a regular at the coffee shop-,” he started carefully, not daring to look at his friend, “– and I think I might... have a crush,” he finished his sentence, even though he knew there was no ‘might’ about it anymore. He just didn’t know how else to say it out loud.

When he did muster up the courage to raise his head, he saw Reiner wearing a wide grin.

“I _knew_ it. I mean I didn’t want to say anything because obviously it’s not my business, but you’ve been coming back home smiling way too much for it to just be about your love for coffee. Do you know his name yet? What is he like?” Reiner said, and Bertl blinked at him.

“Wh- what?” Reiner looked at him a little funny, causing Bertl to immediately go back at picking at his jeans again.

“Bertholdt,” he said, for once using his full name. “You know it’s no news for me that you like guys, right?”

Bertl gulped in response, probably looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I mean, I _am_ your best friend. Plus, we live together, it’s not like it’s easy to hide stuff from each other.”

Reiner made a good point, and even though Bertholdt had already suspected he might’ve known, it still felt a little scary hearing it being said out loud. When Reiner leaned a little closer to bump his shoulder against his, he relaxed a little.

“It’s okay, Bert, I’m fine with it,” Reiner assured him, and Bertl tried out a weak smile.

“So, tell me about this guy. How often does he come to the shop? What happened today?”

 

***

 

Bertl found that the tension which used to appear in his muscles whenever Jean entered the shop had dissipated a little now he had talked about it with Reiner. He had been surprised to realize that Reiner really was interested in what Bertl had to say about Jean.

Still, he could almost feel a physical punch to his sternum when at the end of that day Jean walked in to meet another date. It was obvious in the way he had switched his usual sweater for an amber colored button down that brought out his eyes, and Bertl knew it was another date before he even sat down at a table.

What he didn’t expect, was for his date to be a _guy_. But it was.

Jean sat down at a table in the corner, opposite of a guy that looked about the same age and had blond short hair and a friendly look in his eyes, and he threw Jean a wide smile the moment he sat down.

Jean had a date with another guy. Which meant Jean was into guys. Somehow Bertholdt managed not to drop the espresso cup that was in his hand. He tried to pretend to himself he didn’t really care, and horribly failed.

Honestly, it was a small miracle when he barely even stuttered when Jean came up to the counter to order for the both of them (he did bump his knee, but Jean didn’t have to know that).

He was grateful for the fact that he worked with Krista today - Ymir would’ve definitely said something about the way he kept glancing at Jean’s table. Krista just smiled, which was a lot easier to ignore.

It seemed the date was going well. The blond guy was telling some story, his hands flying through the air between them. From where Bertholdt was working he couldn’t see Jean’s face, but he was leaning forward. That meant he was interested, right?

He held out for half an hour before he gave in and went to clean one of the tables as an excuse to see Jean’s face. The other guy was still talking enthusiastically, so Bertl had assumed that meant the date was going well. However, now he was standing on the other side of the shop he could see the way Jean wasn’t leaning forward, but was actually slumped against the table, picking at the sleeve of his shirt. His eyes kept going from the face of his companion back to the surface of the table, every now and then showing a tight smile.

It was suddenly obvious to Bertl that it wasn’t going well at all. When Jean looked past the guy and his eyes caught onto Bertl, he quickly went back to scrubbing the table in front of him. He really should try to be less obvious in his staring.

Eventually some new customers appeared, and Bertl had to go back to the counter to help out Krista. He prepared cups of coffee for the numerous clients that entered, and all the while Jean’s date kept talking. It was painfully clear how little Jean opened his mouth himself, and Bertl wondered if it was because the other guy just didn’t let fall any gaps in his stories, or if it was because Jean simply didn’t want to contribute.

By the time Jean’s date finally rose to his feet, Krista had already ended her shift, leaving Bertl to handle the last half hour at the shop and close up afterwards. The guy put on his coat, smiling and still talking. The relief for Jean was obvious even just by watching his back. Bertl watched as the guy bend forward – to do what? Hug? Kiss? Bertl would never find out – but before he could do anything Jean shied away from him. He tried to save himself by instead giving Jean an awkward pat on the shoulder before he grabbed his bag and walked away.

It only took one minute for Bertl to turn to the coffee machine and prepare another latte macchiato. He didn’t think there would be that much more customers anyway, and this time he was sure there was no one who could catch him preparing a free drink for a client. He would put some money in the cash register later.

This time he didn’t say anything as he put the glass in front of Jean, and instead only fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. Jean let out a soft sigh and pulled the glass a little closer.

“Thank you,” he breathed, sounding very tired. He looked up and gave Bertl a small smile that looked way less forced than when he had smiled at his date. “I’m probably just not meant to date,” he muttered, sounding defeated. Bertl felt a little sorry for him as he watched how Jean took a big gulp of his coffee.

“This is nice, by the way,” he suddenly said, looking up again. “You make really good coffee.”

Bertl could immediately feel his cheeks flare up, and he stuttered out a thanks as he rubbed the back of his neck. Oh, God. How was he supposed to react to Jean giving him a compliment? It didn’t matter it had been about coffee, he would probably think about those words for the rest of the week (no, scrap that, he would think about this for months).

“You know the guy, Thomas, he just kept talking about his ex,” Jean said after a few beats of silence. “I swear, at one point I was scared he would even show me pictures.”

“That’s horrible,” Bertl breathed out, suddenly understanding why Jean had looked so miserable.

“And that’s not even the worst part,” Jean added, holding up a finger. “He also said how _open minded_ it was of me to date both males and females, can you believe that?”

“Oh, God,” Bertl said, and clapped a hand in front of his mouth out of horror.

“I’m afraid he’s going to call me later to ask me on a second date. Maybe I should just say I went back to France or something,” Jean muttered, and took another drink.

“So you are from France?” Bertl asked, curious. In response Jean’s face split into a wide grin.

“Couldn’t you tell by my accent?” He joked. “I’m here on an exchange program for a year. You’ve seen Marco before, right? He’s my appointed buddy. It’s nice, because his dad turned out to be from Belgium, which means Marco speaks a little French as well.”

That explained why he had heard them talking in French, Bertl realized, and why Marco didn’t have an accent like Jean.

“How do you like it so far?” Bertl asked, and was surprised to realize they were having a conversation right now. An _actual_ conversation.

“It’s really different, but nice,” Jean answered, taking the last gulp of his macchiato. “I do miss hearing my own language sometimes, though. It’s tiring having to speak English all the time. I’m glad I have Marco,” he added. Bertl nodded, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, and at Jean’s look of puzzlement added, “I moved here from Germany a few years ago.”

“Really?” Jean asked, surprised. “I can barely hear it, your English is really good,” he said, causing Bertl to blush again.

“Y-yeah, I took a workshop to work on my accent when I came here,” Bertl admitted, and he watched as Jean scooped some of the foam out with his spoon.

“Still, I think it’s impressive,” he insisted.

Bertl’s eyes flitted from Jean’s face to the spoon that was now against his lips, and back to his face again.

“Um,” he muttered, sounding more hesitant than he wanted to, “-thanks.”

Jean’s face broke out into a soft smile, and Bertl gave in to a second impulse that day.

“You should go out with me,” he blurted, his eyes widening immediately after the words had left his mouth. Oh. Oh no. _Oh no_.

He could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage, the shop suddenly feeling too small and too big at once, his palms sweating.

“I- I mean. Uh. It’s already been closing time, I shouldn’t have distracted you so much, you should go,” he rambled, not even checking if Jean had finished his coffee before he took the glass and turned away.

“Wait!” Jean said, sounding confused. “But I–,”

“I’m sorry, Jean, it’s late, I still need to clean everything and close the shop and my roommate is probably already waiting for me,” Bertl said, and he just couldn’t stop talking. Just his luck; his whole life, the problem had been that he never knew what to say or what to do, that he had been the quiet kid everywhere he went without ever wanting to, and the one time he should shut up, he wasn’t able to.

“Really, Jean, you should just go. I’m tired, it’s been a long day, and I don’t want Ymir to find out I didn’t clean the machines before I left tomorrow–,”

He finally fell silent when he heard the screeching of a chair being dragged over the floor, and he watched over his shoulder as Jean silently stood up and put on his coat (and his scarf, and his beanie, and his gloves).

“I’m sorry,” Bertl muttered, only now noticing his hands were shaking. He shoved them behind his back so Jean wouldn’t see– though, if he was honest that chance was very slim to begin with, because Jean didn’t even seem to want to look his way.

Now Bertl had finally managed to press his lips together, and keep them together, the silence felt heavy. He could feel it pressing against his chest, making it a little harder to breathe. It didn’t change when Jean left, and the door shut behind him.

Bertl waited until he could see Jean turning the corner of the street before he walked to the door and switched the sign to closed, turning the key in the lock.

“I’m such an idiot,” he muttered, watching his breath forming a small circle of condense on the glass of the door, before dissipating again.

 

***

 

Bertl had been spending his past two days stuck to the couch, watching kid shows on Netflix to shut out his thoughts. Reiner hadn’t said anything, and neither had Bertl, but he probably knew anyway. It wasn’t as if Bertl was being very subtle, his only verbal responses existing out of grunts and hums and sighs, and the only times he stretched his legs being when he had to go to the bathroom.

After those two days, however, he didn’t have a choice. He had to work his shift, and though the idea of calling in sick was very tempting, he and Reiner needed the money. Besides, the annoying rational voice in his mind said, if he stayed inside _now_ , he would probably never leave this house. Avoiding things only made his anxiety worse. He had to go.

Convincing himself of the need to put on a fresh pair of clothes and leaving the house didn’t mean it was easy, however. As he made his way to the bus stop, he felt as if everyone around him could see what an _idiot_ he was. He still had no idea what had made him say his thoughts out loud – why would Jean want to go out with him? Jean was a French exchange student, going to college, drinking coffee with his friends. Bertl was just– well, if he was really honest, he didn’t even know who he was exactly.

The bus came right on time, and he spent the ride being huddled up in the seat, hoping no one would notice him or sit behind him. He didn’t think he’d have the energy for that today.

Fortunately, no one did, and as he exited the bus and walked to the coffee shop he felt a small spark of hope that maybe today wouldn’t be so bad. As he entered through the back, he could already hear Ymir walking around in the public part of the shop, making sure the coffee machines were all turned on and the counter was clean.

“Hey Bertl!” she yelled as he zipped out of his coat and put on his working shirt. He was a little glad that his first day after the Incident would be with Ymir. If it had been Krista, she would probably have spent the whole day throwing him concerned looks, and though she always meant well, it never really worked to make him feel any better.

“Hey Ymir,” he said, trying out a cautious smile as he walked out of the staff room. He fidgeted a little nervously with his shirt when Ymir squinted at him.

“You want to talk about it?” She asked. Bertl let out a breath.

“Not really.”

“Okay, then let’s get to work, the tables need a quick wipe,” she said, and before Bertl could say anything more she threw a wet cloth at him. He caught it just in time or it would’ve hit him right in the face.

For a moment he wondered if he should thank Ymir out loud, but when he looked up she had already turned his back to him, checking if the coffee machines were properly cleaned the day before, so instead Bertl turned around and started wiping the tables.

He was almost finished with the last table, trying to scrub away a very persistent stain, when the door opened and he heard the familiar ping. Bertl didn’t look up to see who it was, because Ymir would take care of the customer anyway, since she was standing behind the counter.

However, he did look up when two hands smacked down on the table he was cleaning. His breath stopped for a moment, because he knew those hands, those slim fingers. He looked up to see Jean standing in front of him, his breath sounding a little harsh, as if he had run here, and the tip of his nose still red from the cold.

Seconds passed before Bertl realized that Jean wasn’t going to say anything before he opened his mouth, so he squeezed the cloth in his hands and took a deep breath.

“Hi Jean,” he said, feeling a small pang of pride when his voice didn’t waver even a little.

Jean kept looking at him, the intensity of his gaze making Bertl feel even more nervous. He swallowed, seeming to try and catch his breath, and Bertl followed the bob of his Adam’s apple before looking back to his eyes.

“Okay,” Jean finally spoke. Bertl blinked.

“Okay?” he asked. “What–,”

Before he could finish his sentence, Jean started talking again.

“I mean- shit, I meant to say, uh, fuck.”

Bertl kept blinking, not sure what to make of this. He could see Ymir watching them from behind the counter, looking a little tense, and he gave her a hesitant smile to let her know things were alright. Even though he wasn’t sure they were.

“Fuck. I meant, okay. I’ll go on a date with you,” Jean said, finally finding the words, and Bertl’s eyes immediately snapped back to him.

Wait.

What had he just said?

“I m- mean, if you still want to of course. If you even wanted to in the first place, I mean you kind of seemed to freak out when you asked, and I thought you were just nervous but– I mean, I could’ve interpreted it wrong, of course, and if that’s the case, I’m so so sorry. I’ll shut up, I’ll look for another coffee shop, there are enough around here, and you were the only reason I really came here anyway, so I–,”

“Jean,” Bertl interrupted him, because it didn’t look like Jean would stop rambling otherwise.

“I– wait, you came here for me?” He said, the words only now sinking in. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, but was a little relieved to see a corresponding blush on Jean’s face.

“U-uh. Kinda. I thought you looked, uh, cute.” He scraped his throat, pulling his hands away from the table and fidgeting with the end of his scarf. “Marco forced me to go inside, and I guess, I uhm, kept coming after that.”

Bertl blinked, again. Jean thought he was cute? This wasn’t going how he expected it to, _at all_.

“So uh–,” Jean said, slowly looking back up to Bertl. “Do you still want to? Go on a date, I mean? With me?”

Bertl let out a breath, looking at the way Jean kept picking at his scarf, the anxious look on his face, how he chewed on his lower lip as he waited for an answer. Jean was actually nervous. About _him_. Because he thought Bertl was _cute_.

It took him another few seconds to realize he still hadn’t said anything, and that Jean started to look more and more sick the more time passed.

“Oh,” Bertl breathed, wiping his hands on the cloth, then realising it was still wet and wiping his hands on his trousers. “O- okay.”

Jean’s face immediately changed, the tension seeping out of his skin and his lips turning upwards into a huge grin.

“Really?” He asked, and if Bertl wasn’t mistaken, he even hopped up onto his toes for a moment. “I mean– uh, cool,” he corrected himself, trying to reign in his smile but obviously failing. Not that it mattered, Bertl thought, because he was pretty sure he wore the same idiotic grin on his face.

“Yeah,” Bertl said. “Cool.”

“So,” Jean said, still sounding a little nervous, but he kept smiling. “When does your shift end?”

“Five o’clock,” Bertl answered, trying to keep the giddiness he felt inside.

“Okay, so. Uh, can I just– pick you up then?” Jean asked, starting to play with the end of his scarf again.

“Yeah! I mean, sure.”

“Great.”

“Great,” Bertl said, his grin widening again.

They looked at each other for a few moments, both wearing the same silly smile on their faces. The spell was broken by Ymir.

“Hey, lovebirds! I thought you were here to actually work, Bertl!” she shouted, and Bertl startled when he saw the small queue in the front.

“Shit,” he breathed, looking back at Jean, who was zipping up his coat.

“It’s okay, I have a lecture in fifteen minutes anyway,” he assured him, pulling the scarf a little tighter around his neck.

“See you at five,” he smiled, walking backwards towards the exit.

“Yeah, see you at five,” Bertl smiled back, just as Jean walked into a chair and almost fell. Bertl did his best not to laugh, watching as Jean clumsily righted the chair and tried to play it off as if nothing had happened.

“Bye, Jean!” he said, making his way towards the counter to help Ymir take care of all the customers waiting to make their order.

“ _Au revoir!_ ”

Bertl grinned, the stress of that morning already forgotten, as he told the next person in line to come up to him and make their order. When he turned to the coffee machine, he threw a quick glance at the clock. _Five hours_ , he thought. Five hours and he would go on a date with Jean.


End file.
